Addicted
by CharlieSummer7
Summary: The reader and Dean are in a volatile relationship and she is keeping a secret habit from him. When he finds out, he finds another way to make her feel good.
1. Found Out

Addicted Part One

"Goddammit," you swore as you slammed the back door to the Impala.

"Hey, don't take your shit out on Baby. It's not her fault the witch got away," Dean scolds as he huffs his way in through the garage and into the bunker.

You glower at the back of his head as he stomps off. We had spent weeks tracking this witch only for her to escape in Madison. It was your own goddamn fault for losing the Witchcatcher. You had one freaking job.

Sam didn't say anything. He just shrugs at you, lets out a lethargic sigh, and heads inside. He doesn't show his anger the way Dean did. Instead, he just looks disappointed which was almost worse.

Grumbling, you storm down the hall of the bunker, through the library, and into your room. The echo of your door slamming vibrates throughout the bunker.

The stash you normally keep on you at all times was also lost when you were scrambling through the Wisconsin woods. That's two crucial things you'll never seen again. You curse under your breath knowing that you were actually angry with yourself, but you take it out on your dresser drawers. There was normally an emergency stash hidden in there somewhere.

The car ride back home had been long and quiet. Dean had blasted Zepplin in order to stave off your inevitable fight. He was pissed at you and was trying not to show it. Hunting would put a strain on anybody's relationship, but it made it even harder for you two since you were both hotheads.

"Yes," you mutter under your breath as you found a little, plastic baggy of white powder under the old, ratty underwear you never use anymore. This is why you keep multiple stashes. Just in case.

Ten minutes later you're laying on the bed with your back against the headboard. All the feelings of guilt, anger, and shame quickly dissipate. Now it was just pure bliss. However, a knock on the door has you hurriedly shoving the rest of your stash in your nightstand and brushing your nose.

"Y/N?," Dean called as he slips into your room, closing the door behind him.

You give him a big, toothy grin. "Hey baby."

Dean arches his eyebrow at you and gave a quizzical look, confused by the change in your demeanor. Before he can say anything though, you begin rambling.

"I'm so sorry, Dean. I fucked up bad. I promise I'll get you a new Witchcatcher. I'll be more careful next time."

Dean contemplates your blubbering face and lets out a deep sigh. "Forget about it," he murmurs, "We'll get 'em next time."

He climbs onto the bed and scoots up next to you. Your head sinks into his shoulder and you interlace your fingers with his, the silence settling over you like a blanket.

Two weeks later you and the boys were in butt-fuck, nowhere Wyoming. The local motel, bar, and diner were all a stone throw away from each other and there didn't seem to be much else in this town.

The Impala pulls up to the shabby, little motel after a long day of interviews and research. Sam had a hunch that the death of the two teens in the old shoe factory were the result of a poltergeist. He wants to check a book that he had left in his room though.

As soon as you enter the dingy room, Sam starts ruffling through his bag for the book. Dean goes straight to the mini fridge and pulls out one of his beers, cracking it and putting his feet up on the table. You sit on the bed and run your hands through you hair. You are itching for a fix and your supply is running low.

As if the universe had heard your thoughts, your phone buzzes in your pocket. It's a message from the disgruntled, dish boy you had met this morning.

"_I have what you asked for. Meet me outside the diner in 10 minutes."_

"Found it!" Sam pulls out an old book from the bowls of his bag. He sits on the bed and flips through the pages. Dean leans his elbow on the table and rubs his temples in between gulps of beer.

"Hey while you're looking up - whatever it is you're looking up - I'm just gonna skip over to the pharmacy down the street. I noticed it on the way into town," you explain to the boys as nonchalantly as you can.

Sam gives you a quick wave, not evening looking up from his book, but Dean narrows his eyes at you and asks, "Why do you need to go to the pharmacy?" He always worries about you going off on your own while you're on a case. Despite the fact that you've proven time and time again that you can hold your own.

"Lady problems. But if you have an issue with me going, you could always go for me and I could sit around drinking beer," you bite back at him.

He grimaces at you, "Go, go. But be back soon. We want to head out as soon as possible, so we can get this bitch."

You nod as you pass through the door. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

Jaunting down the street, you wonder if this dinky, little town even has a pharmacy.

A few hours later the three of you pile into the Impala, kind of dirty and in need of a drink. The poltergeist wound up being a pretty simple salt and burn; however, your shoulder still throbs from where the poltergeist threw a chair at you. Dean has a hole in his jacket sleeve and a shallow slice in his arm and Sam is still trying to get dust out of his eyes, but besides that you were all unscathed.

"God, I'm ready for a drink," Sam exclaims from the front passenger seat. Dean nods his head in agreement. You can see the tiredness in his eyes.

"Yea I feel like we should all go out and celebrate a painless hunt. It's been a long time since we've had a straight forward salt and burn," you quip from the backseat.

Dean chuckles, his features finally relaxing. "Your wish is my command, sweetheart," he declares as he revs the engine and puts his foot down on the gas.

You pull up to the bar and clamber inside. Sam and Dean immediately plant themselves at the bar and hail the bartender.

"Order me a whiskey," you call to Dean. "I'm just going to go to the ladies room."

Once in the bathroom, you pull out your stash and exhale a breath you didn't know you were holding. It has been almost 24 hours since your last hit. When you are finally sated, you lift your head and glance into the cloudy mirror. Your bloodshot eyes look back at you.

The bags under your eyes seem prominent to you even though Dean always insists that he doesn't notice them. The lack of sleep, diner food and constant travel leaves you looking bereft. I mean, your habit probably doesn't help either.

You splash some cold water on yourself and push your hair from your face. Giving yourself one more quick look-over, you go to join the guys at the bar.

Sam and Dean have moved to a booth in the corner with their drinks. You slide in next to Dean and he passes you a glass of whiskey. Picking it up, you shoot it back in one go. Dean smiles at you and throws his drink back too. You begin to feel warm inside and feel yourself smiling back.

"Well I'm glad this wound up being a quick trip. I can't wait to get back to the bunker and take a proper shower. I'm sick of grungy hotel showers," Sam grumbles while nursing his beer.

"Awe come on, Sammy! We're killing monsters, cruising with Baby, and touring all the fine bars America has to offer. What more could you want?" Dean smirks while hailing over a waitress. "Two more whiskies, please. And keep em' coming!"

Normally, you would be annoyed with how Dean winks at the waitress, but you are starting to feel real good and can only grin like a dope.

Sam rolls his eyes at Dean, but he laughs, joining in on Dean's jovial mood. For once, things feel good and you can push the world from your mind.

A few drinks later and Sam is the one chatting up the busty waitress at the bar while you and Dean remain tucked into your corner booth. Your head is swimming, but it feels so good.

"You were great today, baby girl," Dean murmurs into your ear. The alcohol is hitting him too and it makes you both more handsy than you would normally be in public.

"Thanks handsome. You weren't too bad yourself," you slur with a smile as you press into Dean. You face hovers inches away from his.

"You're pretty," he chuckles as he closes the distance between your lips and slinks his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like whiskey and smoke. You respond and press your lips harder against his, attacking his tongue with yours.

"Mmm, you're an eager girl tonight, aren't ya?" Dean whispers into your mouth. "You gotta be careful with what you're doing to me. Or I might need to take you right here."

His hand slides up your jean covered thigh. You giggle into his mouth and continue the assault on his tongue. Groaning, he gives your thigh a tight squeeze. You return the gesture and run your hand over the front of his jeans.

"Damn, you get me going so fast. Can you feel what you're doing to me?"

You nod your head as you feel his bulge through his denim. Dean moans when you return his squeeze. Pulling away from his kiss, you look at him through your eyelashes and lick your lips. "Let's get out of here."

Dean didn't need to be told twice. He springs up and ushers you towards the door. You laugh as you wobble on your feet and your head rushes. "Just a minute, lover boy," you stop him at the entrance. "Let me just go to the bathroom before we go. I've been drinking too much damn whiskey."

He grins at you and pulls you into a deep kiss. You can taste the need on his lips. "Ok, but don't take too long. I'll go tell Sam we're leaving."

Once in the bathroom, you pull your stash out of your pocket. One more hit for the night and you'll be good until tomorrow. You use a razor blade to arrange your cache on the grimy sink and bend over. Just has you are about to pull up, the bathroom door flies open.

"Sammy made a friend for the night and is taking off. I couldn't wait for you, so I thought I'd come in and…."

You jump in surprise and spin around. Dean's eyes widen as he gawks at you, glancing down at the sink, and then back at you. Your jaw falls and you are unable to produce any words.

"What the fuck, Y/N?," Dean yells. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Dean, this isn't what it looks like," you scramble and take a step towards him. He takes a step back and leans against the closed door.

"What the fuck is this suppose to look like? Are you kidding me, Y/N? What are you doing with this shit?"

Your words catch in your mouth and you don't have an answer for him. You look down at your feet trying to come up with an explanation, but your head just keeps on spinning.

"How long?," he asks in a low, gravely voice. "How long have you been using this shit?"

Bracing your hands behind you on the sink, you finally peer into his eyes. His eyes are narrowed in anger, but you can still see the sadness and hurt behind them. "I've always used, Dean," you whisper, "I've used since before we met."

Dean sucks in his breathe and stares down at you. "You mean you've been hiding this from me the entire time we've been together?"

"Come on, Dean! It's not a big deal. We deal with a lot of shit in our line of work. It just helps me relax, that's all."

That is apparently the worst thing you can say because Dean goes back to yelling at you. "This is a big fucking deal, Y/N. That shit will fuck you up. Don't you remember? I've dealt with people and addiction before."

Your eyes widen at him. Sam's demon blood addiction had never even crossed your mind before. But your habit wasn't the same.

"Come on, Dean. This is totally different from that."

"No it isn't!," Dean exclaims before you can say anything else. "That shit will kill you!"

Now you feel your own anger and pain bubbling up. You raise your voice to match his. "Well who the fuck are you to judge? You practically drink yourself stupid every night! Think of how many drunken nights we've spent together. What makes that so different?," you spit back at him.

Pushing past him, you stomp out of the bathroom and out of the bar. The cold, night air hits you like a train. Your coat is still in the Impala, but neither you or Dean are in any condition to drive. Besides, the motel is only a five-minute walk.

You hear the gravel crunching behind you as Dean catches up. He grabs your arm and spins you around to face him.

"Where the fuck are you going? I'm not done with you!," he rages. "How could you do this?"

The anger and despair you are always trying keep down continues to spill out in your inebriated state. "Demons killed my parents, Dean. You know that. When I was pulled into the hunting life, I needed something to keep me calm. To keep me sane. It's the one thing in my life that makes me feel fucking good!"

You immediately regret your words as you see the flash of grief cross Dean's face. He doesn't respond to your remark. It feels like you just slapped him in the face.

He continues to give you a hard look, but remains silent. The bar parking lot seems eerily quiet now that you've stopped yelling at each other. A shiver runs through you and you cross your arms, cursing at yourself for leaving your coat behind.

Dean catches your shiver. "Come on. Let's get back to the room. You'll catch your death out here," he mutters while still glaring at you.

Nodding numbly, you follow him towards the motel. The silence is heavy between you. You almost like the yelling better.

When you get back to the room you march straight into the bathroom and lock the door. Sitting on the edge of the tub, you put your face into your hands and feel the tears starting to pour out.

Why are you such a fuck up? Dean has enough pain in his life without you causing him more grief. He deserves so much more.

You hear Dean press against the door. Holding your breath, you try to keep it together, so he can't hear you cry.

"It's different for me, Y/N. I have a high drinking tolerance. And I don't mix it with other shit," he laments. His voice is muffled and sounds heavy in his throat.

Unable to hold your breath anymore, you let out a big exhale and try not to choke on your own sobs.

"Come on, Y/N. Let me in."

You can hear the pain in his voice. You want to let him in. You want to be better for him. But you know you're just a broken, fuck up and you don't want him to see you like this. You already want another fix just to make this feeling stop.

"Go away, Dean," you bite out harshly. It's easier to be a bitch and push him away. You wipe the tears from your face and dig into your pocket. You're already in trouble, right? Might as well go big.

As you stand up and lean against the counter, you can hear Dean shuffle outside the door.

"Y/N, what are you doing?," he asks with a hint of panic in his voice.

"I said go away, Dean!," you yell as you dump your little bag on the counter. "This is none of your business."

"Y/N!," Dean roars as he slams his body against the door. You jump in surprise. It'll only be a matter of time before he gets in, so you try to arrange your stash quickly.

"Y/N, let me the fuck in!," Dean bellows as he continues to slam his body against the door. Just as you're about to dive into your cache, the flimsy door lock breaks and Dean bursts into the room.

For the second time tonight, Dean has caught you in the bathroom with your stash. Except this time you don't care. You try to finish before he can get to you, but he tackles you to the floor. Your shoulder slams into the tile and pain floods down your arm. It was already hurting from the hunt earlier today, but now you're sure it'll be bruised and sore for weeks.

"Dean, get the fuck off of me! You're hurting me!," you cry out at him as he straddles your waist and pins you on your back. He raises your arms above your head and holds them there, so you can't get away. "Just leave me alone."

You fruitlessly, flail underneath him, but he just holds you steady. Screaming out at him in frustration, you try to wriggle free.

"Goddamnit, Y/N! Just stay still," Dean yells down at you with narrow eyes. "I can't leave you alone for five fucking minutes without you trying to get high. How did you keep this from me for so long?"

Your turn your head to the side, so you don't have to look him in the eye. Your chest is heaving with exertion and your struggling has only succeeded in shifting your T-shirt, so it's exposing your midriff.

"You'd rather get high than be with me. Is that it? That shit makes you feel good and I can't?," Dean asks in a low voice. You can still hear his anger though.

Turning your head, you finally look him in the eye. Your head is still in a fog and your vision feels blurred, but you think you see a hint of fear behind his fierce eyes.

"I just don't care, Dean. I don't. Everything hurts so bad and I just want it to stop. I want it all to go away," you cry out. Glaring up at him, you let out a deep exhale. He can finally see how pathetic you are, and you just don't care anymore. An idea pops into your head and it feels like something in you has finally snapped.

"You wanna make me feel good, baby?," you purr at him. "Then make me feel good."

You begin to roll your hips underneath him and let out an evil grin. He looks down at you in surprise. A deep, guttural chuckle leaves your throat as you let yourself hit rock bottom.

"Come on, baby. I want you to make me feel good. Please make me feel good," you whine to him while thrusting your hips up more aggressively. You can feel his bulge begin to grow against your pelvis.

Dean gives you a hard look. He's still furious and upset, but the whiskey and your begging are beginning to cloud his judgement.

You rub your hips against his bulge and let out a little moan which pushes him over the edge. If you're not going to care, then why should he?

"Fuck, Y/N," Dean growls as he leans into you and shoves his tongue into your mouth. He still has you pinned beneath him, so all you can do is respond with your lips and a roll of your hips.

"You wanna feel good, baby girl?," Dean whispers into your mouth. The only response you can give is a slight groan. "Fine, I'll make you feel fucking good."

Suddenly, Dean dislodges his mouth from yours and springs away from you. Before you can even miss the feeling of his body pressed against you, he scoops you into his arms and throws you over his shoulder. You squeal in surprise as he carries you back into the bedroom.

You land heavily on the bed as he throws you down. Quickly, you prop yourself up on your elbows and stare at him as he whips off his T-shirt. The muscles in his chest ripple and you feel your breath catch in your throat.

Slowly, he crawls onto the bed and over top of your body, never breaking eye contact. His jade eyes are darkened with lust. "Don't worry, baby girl," he hums into your ear. "I'm going to make you feel so good."

He sits up and straddles your thighs, his eyes burrowing back into yours. You flinch as you feel his finger tips graze the lower half of your stomach. His hands reach the button on your jeans and he pops it easily and slides your zipper down.

You fling your head back into the pillow in anticipation while gently lifting your hips up off the mattress. His fingers clench the waist of your jeans and he pulls your pants down your thighs languidly. Removing his knees from the mattress, his feet hit the floor as he stands at the end of the bed, looming over you. He carefully removes your jeans from your ankles until you are left wearing only your T-shirt and black panties.

"Damn, sweetheart," Dean hisses breathlessly. "You are something else."

Your face colours as he simply stands over you and takes you in. Reaching for your ankles, he pulls you down until your ass is perched at the end of the bed. "Put your feet up for me, baby," Dean demands as he places your feet flat on the end of the bed. Your legs are now spread wide for him with nothing but a thin strip of cotton covering your most intimate spot.

Whimpering, you rock your hips slightly with impatience. You want him touching every inch of you.

Dean chuckles, "Don't worry, baby girl. I got you." With that he slips to his knees in front of you. He leans in and you can feel his hot breath on your thigh. A shudder runs through your body and down to your bones.

"You look so pretty for me, all spread out," Dean murmurs into your thigh. You twitch as you feel his stubbly beard run against your smooth skin.

You let out a quiet moan when you feel his fingers graze down your panty-clad pussy. His nose nuzzles your clit through your panties as he inhales your scent. Immediately, your panties dampen.

"Mmm, does my girl like that? Gettin' all wet for me. You must want it so bad."

"Uh huh, I want you so badly, Dean," you mewl back.

He chuckles and rubs his fingers harder against your pussy, but your panties are baring him from fully entering you.

"Dean, please…," you exhale in frustration.

His eyes flicker over your body and bore into yours. "Yea, that's right Y/N," he goads. "Beg for it. Tell me what you want."

"Please, Dean..," you gasp as he lightly strokes over your clit.

"Please, what?"

"Please, I need you! Please touch me. I need you to fuck me, please," you finally wail. Your lust and need succumbing to Dean's demand.

Without further encouragement, Dean pounces on you and whips your panties down your legs quicker than lightening. Before your mind can catch up, his tongue is pressed in your folds and he's lapping you up.

You shriek at the sudden, intense contact. Dean's wide tongue trails from your ass to your clit in rapid succession before he finally plunges it into your pussy.

"Fuck, Dean," you hiss. "That feels so fucking good. Don't stop."

Dean hums his response into your folds which only makes you moan louder.

He then moves his attention to your sensitive, little nub. Licking mini circles into it, he groans into your core. "Damn baby girl, you taste so good."

You pant as he eases his index finger into you. He leisurely fucks his finger into you as he increases his attack on your clit.

"Oh my god, Dean," you whimper. "Please…"

Before you can finish your thought, he slides another finger into your folds and your breath catches. If you weren't high before, the endorphins coursing through your body would definitely make you high now.

Without pausing, he slides a third finger into you and you squirm with the pressure. He uses his free hand to press onto your belly and hold you still.

"Mmm, you're so fucking tight. Gotta open you up so you can take my thick cock," Dean mumbles into your pussy.

You groan at the thought of his big cock splitting you open. Dean's hand slips from your belly and moves up your body. He pushes your shirt up, so your tits are exposed, and he pinches your pert, pink nipples.

Heaving, you can feel your climax building. The stimulation on your pussy and nipples is pushing you over the edge.

"Deeeean..," you whine out to him in warning. "Feels so good, baby. I'm not going to last."

Instead of slowly down, Dean curls his fingers inside you and increases the pace of his finger fuck. "It's ok, baby girl. I want you to cum for me. I want you to squirt that pretty pussy for me."

You cry out at his demand and the return of his tongue on your clit pushes you to the edge.

"Fuck, Dean. I'm gonna…," you stop mid sentence to let out a silent scream as Dean pushes you to climax. Your juices spray over his hand and your pussy clamps onto his fingers like a vice. White light clouds your vision and you push the back of your head deep in your pillow. Your hips bucks against his rough fingers.

Dean doesn't relent his assault on your pussy and you have to push his head away when your clit becomes too sensitive. Panting heavily, you look down at him and see his green eyes gleaming at you. His face is dripping with your cum and he has a dopey grin.  
He stands and uses his discarded shirt to wipe you off his face. "Fuck that was so hot. I love it when you squirt like that."

You smile weakly at him, finally coming down from your climax. Sitting up so you're seated at the end of the bed, you can detect the evidence of his arousal through the persisting lump in his jeans.

Pulling at the waist of his pants, you drag him towards you so he's standing between your legs. Your lust filled eyes look up at him through your lashes. "Fuck me, Dean," you demand as your voice drips with desire.

He doesn't need to be told twice as he desperately wraps his hand around your neck and leans down to plunge his tongue into your mouth. You can taste yourself on him and it makes your pussy quiver. Neither of you can wait any longer.

"I need you inside of me," you murmur as you quickly unbuckle his belt and undo his jeans.

"Fuck, Y/N," he replies. "I need to put my fat cock into you now."

He clumsily paws at your bunched-up shirt and you exhale an impatient breath as you have to remove your hands from him, so your shirt can come off. Once it's ripped over your head, your hands return to him and you pull down his jeans and boxers in one swoop.

Dean's cock stands rigid in front of your face. It looks painfully hard and it's seeping with pre-cum. Although he is longer than the average man, it is his thickness that is truly impressive. His cock seems to be as thick as your wrist. You lick your lips and swallow your trepidation, glad that you are already dripping wet for him.

You want to taste him, but Dean's patience has run out. He needs to fuck you. Now.

"Come on, baby girl," Dean beckons. "Get on your hands and knees."

Immediately, you turn over. Your knees are on the centre of the bed and your ass is raised high for him. Dean has a pretty view of your slick pussy and he takes a second to admire your form.

Kneeling onto the bed, he rubs his hand over your lower back and over your ass. "That's a good girl. You're so ready for me. All wet and trembling for my cock."

You moan as he swats your ass. "Please, Dean. I need you so badly," you whimper.

His one hand is slowly fisting his swollen cock while his other hand continues to rub the flesh of your ass.

"Tell me, Y/N. Tell me how badly you need it."

You whine as his runs the head of his cock through your folds. "Please Dean. I need you to fuck me. I need your fucking cock."

At this request, Dean slams himself into you. You scream at the intrusion and your vision blurs for a second. Normally, Dean would ease into you, but now he's not even giving you a minute to adjust. He just pulls back and rams into you again.

"Yea, is this what you need? You need this thick cock to make you feel good?," Dean growls at you. It feels as though he's splitting you open.

You're unable to respond as it seems that Dean has fucked all the air out of your lungs. His fingers dig into your hips and he slams into you, unrelenting in his brutal pace.

You collapse onto your elbows and your face collides into the bed with your ass still high in the air. "Fuck, Dean fuck!," is all you're able to spit out.

"Yea, you like that don't you bitch? You like it rough?," Dean demands breathlessly. Your pussy twinges when he calls you "bitch" and you can feel your wetness leaking out around his cock. All you can do is let out a small grunt in response.

Dean keeps one hand on your hip, but moves the other one to your shoulder. He grabs you and pulls you up towards him, so your body is pressed up against his. Slowing his pumps, he pushes into you deeply and slams into your cervix. You let out a yelp every time he drives his cock in.

"You like that, slut?," he chuckles into your ear. "You like feeling me deep inside you?"

You moan and nod your head as he wraps his arm around you and over your chest. His other hand is still on your hip.

"Speak up, baby girl. I need to hear you say it."

"I like feeling your cock deep inside of me, Dean. I like it when you fuck me so good," you coo to him under your breath.

He smiles and kisses into your neck as he continues to pump into you deliberately.

"Yea? Then I think you'll like it when I do this," he whispers as his other hand leaves your hip and trails in between your legs. You gasp as you feel his fingers graze your clit.

Grinning, he rubs your nub in little circles and begins picking up the pace again. You're panting and reaching back to hold onto his hips, so you have some stability. Your eyes are beginning to cloud over again and your pussy his clamping down harder onto his cock.

Dean groans and pumps into you hastily while keeping up the incursion on your clit. "Your pussy is squeezing me so good, baby girl. Are you going to cum around my big cock?," he seethes into you ear.

You somehow find your voice and cry out, "Fuck, yes! You feel so fucking good. I'm going to cum, Dean. I'm going to cum on your big cock."

"Cum for me, sweetheart."

Screaming out, your pussy clamps down on his cock and you squeeze his sides ensuring that he'll have bruises tomorrow.

Before you can catch your breath, Dean pushes you down onto the bed and flips you onto your back. He grabs your hips and pounds his cock back into your pussy. His chest pushes into yours and you claw at his back. You raise your pelvis up to meet his manic thrusts.

"Fuck yea, baby! I'm gonna..," Dean groans as his onslaught falters and he spills his seed inside of you. You can feel him fill you up and spill out of you, his cum displaced by the last thrusts of his cock.

You are both heaving from exertion and slick with sweat as Dean rests his forehead against yours. His cock still throbbing deep inside of you.

Once he's caught his breathe a little, Dean rolls off of you and lays next to you on the bed. You can feel his mess pooling in between your legs and onto the sheets. However, your inebriation and exhaustion begins to hit you and you cannot bring yourself to care. You can feel yourself slipping into sleep.

Dean notices this and silently gets up. He wets a cloth from the bathroom and returns to clean you up and cool your inflamed skin. You're too out of it now to even notice. Once you're cleaned up, he quickly cleans himself off and then pulls the comforter over you.

He looks down at you despondently and shakes his head. Your face is lit up by the lamp on the nightstand and he can see the fatigue lined in your brow. He gently pushes your hair back and gives you a soft kiss on the temple.

Slipping on a pair of boxers, he grabs another beer from the mini fridge and picks up Sam's laptop. He sets himself up at the worn table and the light from the laptop gives an unnatural glow to the room.

He opens Google and types in:

_best rehab centres_


	2. Rock Bottom

Addicted Part Two

You were going to fucking kill him.

The rain drizzles down the window as you stare down from the second story to the barren parking lot. You keep expecting to see the Impala drive up and for Dean to hop out, explaining that this was all a sick joke.

Turning away from the window, you land heavily on the bed as you sit down. You place your head in your hands and run your fingers through your hair. Unconsciously, your leg jiggles in agitation and sweat beads down your face. You think you're going to be sick.

It's been three days since Sam and Dean dropped you off at this shit hole. After Dean found out about your secret, he tricked you into thinking there was another case, but really, he had filled Sam in and they brought you here. A bleak, rehab centre that had some of the best doctors in the country, Dean had assured you.

"Fuck," you swore under your breath. It had only taken a day for the shivering and sweating to start. You were going to fucking kill Dean. How could he do this to you?

The withdrawal was bad, but you hated feeling defenseless more. Any number of monsters could appear, and you had no way to protect yourself. No weapons, no holy water; shit, they wouldn't even let you have laces on your shoes. Well, at least you weren't planning on staying long.

Sam and Dean should have picked a place with better security. They should have known better. The lights in your room automatically turn off and you hear someone in the hallway call, "Lights out everyone. Time to get some rest."

You lay back on the bed and pull the blanket over you. The blanket and the scratchy cotton of your patients' scrubs irritated your skin. Closing your eyes, you wait and listen for the final check in of the night.

After thirty minutes, you hear foot steps padding down the halls. The attendant stops at each door and pauses for a moment. Your breath catches in your chest as you hear the person stop at your door and peer through the tiny window. You lay still and take soft breaths until you hear the person move away. It isn't until you hear the hallway go quiet that you sit up and briskly step towards the window.

The lamppost in the parking lot is your only source of light, but it's enough. You pull out the broken bed spring you've been hiding in the waist band of your pants. You're grateful for the cheap, rickety beds. After a day of fighting with it, you had been able to bend it, so it would pop open the lock on the window. You only needed to wait for nightfall.

Thrusting the window open, you feel the spray of the rain on your face and you take a deep breath. You climb out onto the roof in your bare feet. Climbing your way to the edge of the roof, you shimmy down the drain pipe and onto the ground. After three days, your first goal is to fuck yourself up.

"Sam!," Dean yells, "I think I have a lead."

It had been two weeks since he'd received a call from the rehab centre telling him that you'd disappeared. He should have known that you would have broken out of there. His anger still bubbles just under the surface and he silently scolds himself. He should have never left her there.

He jumps into the driver's side of the Impala and hands Sam a bag of gas station snacks before revving the engine and speeding away. "Yea? What did you find?," Sam asks.

"I got a call from Bobby. One of his contacts spotted her down in San Diego."

"San Diego? What is she doing down there?"

"I don't know, man," Dean admits, "But we gotta go after her." He ends the conversation by cranking up the radio and flooring it down the highway.

The sound of glass shattering startles you awake. Your head throbs and your throat feels like the Sahara. Blinking into the dimness, you see that you're in some seedy hotel room. You pull yourself up and prop yourself against the back of the decrepit couch you're sitting on. A random guy that you don't recognize groans a complaint as you shift the couch. His face is burrows into cushions and he doesn't seem to be fully conscious.

Peering around the room, you see a few other strangers sprawled about. The noise must have come from outside because it's dead quiet in here. There's a woman wearing only a skirt and bra laying on top of the bed and there's a man with a big, burly beard sitting in the arm chair. He appears to be awake, but his eyes are glazed over. He doesn't even acknowledge you when you wobble onto your feet. You're careful not to trip over the unconscious man laying on the floor.

You stumble into the filth covered bathroom and turn on the sink. It takes a minute until the brown water finally clears. You cup your hands and splash water on your face while trying to remember the last 24 hours. There's a stained hand towel hanging next to the sink and you use it to dab the dampness off your face. You flinch when you catch your own gaze in the mirror.

Your eyes are blood shot and your hair looks like it hasn't been brushed in days. Black mascara stains your face and makes the dark circles under your eyes look even worse. Your mouth is swollen and there's a gash on your lower lip. Vaguely, you remember getting in a bit of a fight last night at the bar, but you don't recall why. Narrow streaks of blood cover your chin. The cold water did nothing to improve your haggard look.

Taking a step back, you examine the rest of your body. You're still wearing the jeans you stole from a department store after you escaped rehab; however, you seem to have lost the shirt you nicked. You're only wearing a black lace bra with a leather jacket that is three times too big for you. You have no idea where the jacket is from. You're starting to think you might need some new clothes.

It's been two months since you left rehab and gave up on Dean ever forgiving you. You had left your phone behind and had been using burner phones ever since. There were times when you wanted to break down and call Dean, but you refused. He's better off without you.

You sigh and zip the jacket closed. Re-entering the room, you loot through the bags and pockets of the unconscious strangers. The guy in the arm chair is still staring out into space. You can see remnants of last night's escapades still on the coffee table. You find $53 and a black tank top in the girl's purse, $80 from the guy asleep on the floor, and a decent size baggie from the guy on the couch. The tank top smells clean, so you put it on and stash the other items in your pockets. Stepping into the exposing sunlight, you leave the motel, feeling like a complete scumbag.

It's dark out when you pull into a different, cheap motel. You'd hot-wired a little Buick and driven until you felt sick. You're somewhere in Nevada.

Thanks to the generous strangers from this morning, you get yourself a room. You'd have to get your hands on some more cash soon, but you'd figure that out. Right now, you just needed to sleep. In your fatigued state, you didn't notice a short man sitting outside his room, watching you.

Once your door was closed, he picked up his phone and quickly dialed. It rang twice before someone picked up.

"Yea?"

"Dean," the man growls into the phone, "I've spotted her. Come quick."

After a nap, shower, and a dip into your private baggie, you're feeling real good again. You decide it's time to check out the local watering hole just down the street. Glancing at your stolen car, you decide to walk.

Jaunting into the bar, you plop yourself in front of the counter. You feel slightly self conscious since your tank top shows more cleavage than you would normally like. There's about half a dozen rough, looking guys, but you feel confident you could take any of them.

"Shot of whiskey, please," you ask when the bartender comes by. He nods and pours you a glass. Before you can even bring it to your lips, a hulking figure sits on the stool next to you.

"Make that two, Tom," he requests.

You survey the guy sitting next to you. He's tall and broad with black hair and brown eyes. He looks like he could be any other guy in the world, but he has a warm smile.

"Hey, can I buy you a drink?," he asks enticingly.

Thinking of your limited spending budget, you flash him a smile and reply, "Sure thing, sugar."

He signals to the bartender for another drink, clearly pleased at your alluring response. "Name's Henry. You're not from around here are ya?"

"Y/N. And no, I'm just passing through."

"That's too bad, Y/N. Because I'd sure like to get to know you," he growls seductively. You laugh and shoot back your second drink.

After a couple of hours and a whole bottle of whiskey, you and Henry have gotten real friendly. His thigh is pressed against yours and he keeps finding reasons to touch you. Whether if it's pushing back your hair or casually resting his hand on your leg. "400€?," he exclaims, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

You finish your drink and laugh, "No I'm not! I was at Oktoberfest in München. Showed up completely wasted on a bus at 8am and thought it was a great idea to go shoe shopping! It was the most I've ever spent on a pair of boots."

Henry laughs aloud at your story and finishes his drink. He glances at the empty bottle and then peers around the bar, realizing you're the last two people in here. "Hey, do you wanna get out of here?

"I thought you'd never ask," you slur at him. He grins and pays the tab, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and guiding you outside. The cold night air hits you hard, but Henry quickly has both of his arms around your waist and is pushing his mouth against yours.

His tongue is clumsy and overbearing. He tastes like stale pot and whiskey. Even when Dean was drinking, he had an expert tongue and tasted marvelous. You try and push Dean out of your mind and return Henry's kiss.

"So, I gotta place we can go, but it's a bit of a drive and I got roommates…"

"It's ok," you interrupt, "I have a motel room just down the street."

He flashes you a wicked grin and nods silently. Slipping his arm back around you, he leads you towards the only motel in town.

You struggle to get your key into the door. Inebriation and Henry's jutting pelvis against your backside, makes it hard to focus. When you finally get in, he slams the door behind you and his mouth returns to yours. Desperately, he's tugging your jacket off. You can feel your nipples harden in the cool air through the thin tank top. You jacket pools to the floor.

"Wait a minute, buddy," you whisper as you push against his chest slightly. "Slow down. I gotta go to the bathroom."

He peers into your darkened eyes and nods, flopping himself on the little couch. You smile and reach down to your jacket on the floor and pull your little baggie from the pocket. Henry watches you and his eyebrow raises as he catches a glimpse of your stash.

"Is that why you're going to the bathroom?," he asks. You tense and wonder if the night will be over before it begins. But then you relax when you see his smile. "Shit girl, you can do that out here. But you gotta promise to share!"

You're relieved you don't have to hid out like a squirrel and you plop down on the couch next to him. "Ok, sugar."

Soon, you're both sitting with your heads lolling against the back of the couch. Shame is melting away into euphoria. You shift slightly, so your head is resting on Henry's shoulder. He smells like cheap cologne and you try not to think of Dean's rich, musky scent. He's done with you, you silently scold yourself.

Henry's wandering hand brings you back to reality and out of your day dreams. He runs his fingers higher up your jean covered thigh. You turn your head to face him and his lust filled face is staring at your intensely. His lips crush against yours and in a daze, you kiss him back.

His movements are hurried as he roughly pulls his shirt off and pushes you back into the couch. He straddles your hips and sucks on your neck, ensuring that they'll be marks tomorrow. While pushing your tank top up your stomach, he grinds his pelvis into yours. You can feel his hardness straining against his jeans. Even high and drunk, your instincts kick in.

"Henry," you mumble into his mouth. He doesn't respond, either not hearing you or not wanting to hear you. "Henry!"

He pulls away slightly, "What?"

"Do you have protection?"

Groaning, he rests his head against your collar bone and inhales deeply. "No I don't think I do," he mumbles while returning to kiss you, "I wasn't expecting to meet anyone like you in that shitty, little bar."

You push him up and try to sit. You're sure that you don't have anything either. For the last two months, you've barely had the clothes on your back.

"Shit, that fucking sucks," you lament. "We can't do this without it."

You're a fuck up and a thief. You're an addict and you make really stupid decisions. But you'd never risk catching something. The only person you have gone bareback with is Dean.

"Come on, baby," he whines, pushing you back into the couch. "It'll be fine."

"No it's not," you insist. You're struggling to get up. His weight is pushing you deep into the couch cushions and is blocking you from grabbing something and using it as a weapon. Your head is spinning and everything in the room seems out of focus.

"Come on. Have some fun," he growls. You can see his eyes narrow. His kind smile is gone.

Henry raises your hands above your head and holds them still. Returning his mouth to your neck, he nips at you hard, making you yelp. His lips drag across your skin and make you shudder. How could you be so fucking stupid? How could you let yourself get here? You're a hunter for Christ's sake.

You start to thrash your legs and let out a scream, hoping that someone will hear you. He immediately sits up and wraps a meaty palm across your mouth.

"Really, bitch?," he swells at you. "You're going to be like that?"

You bite down on his hand in response. Cursing, he pulls it back; but, before you can let out another scream, he brings his hand back down across your face.

Your head rings at the blow and your mind rattles inside your head. The pre-existing gouge in your lip splits open and you can feel blood run down your face. Your arms remain pinned above your head as he begins to paw at the zipper on your jeans.

He passes another blow across your face when you won't stop flailing your legs, trying to get out from underneath him. This one makes your temple throb and your vision darken. Your intoxicated mind is trying to figure out what's going on. Your face feels wet, but you can't figure out why.

"Stupid bitch," he exclaims while finally opening your jeans. Your body is no longer moving as you seem to have forgotten how too. His weight feels like it's crushing you and you lean into the darkness, praying that it takes you.

Suddenly, you hear a loud bang and the pressure on top of you is lifted. You splutter and gasp in a haggard breath. Disorientated, you try to sit up, but your head is too heavy. You can't see anything, but it feels like you're falling. It sounds like fireworks are going off near your head. You want it to stop because the crashing and banging is too loud.

Then, as if the universe heard you, it goes quiet and it feels like someone is holding your hand. The darkness is encroaching, and you feel yourself descend. You think you hear Dean say your name.

You must be going to heaven because that's the only way you'll see Dean again, you think to yourself as you settle into obscurity.


	3. Bruised

Addicted Part Three

You wake with a start and it feels like part of your head was taken clean off. The throbbing in your skull is a gong smacking against your brain. Your groan at the sensation.

Blinking your eyes open, you see soft light as your vision adjusts. You appear to be in the bunker. Specifically, in Dean's bed. Clutching your eyes back shut, you exhale a haggard breath. You never thought you'd be lucky enough to get into heaven.

A warm thick blanket covers you and you pull it up to your nose. You smell gun powder, coffee, and whisky. Dean's scent. You inhale deeply and feel your aching shoulders relax. At least your content to spend eternity here.

The pounding in your head distracts you from your peace. Why the fuck would you have a migraine in heaven? And why do you still need to pee?

Unable to ignore the pain in your head and the pressure in your belly, you sit up to see if heaven has a bathroom. You feel light headed as you bring yourself to a sitting position. Your vision is partially obstructed, and you bring a hand to your face. The skin around your one eye is swollen and you can feel a break in the skin. Running your hands down your face, you realize you also have a split lip.

Before you can figure out what's going on, the door opens. Green eyes pierce into yours and you gasp. "Holy shit, you're dead too?"

Dean is startled to find you sitting up, but he flashes a sad smile at you. "Not dead yet, sweetheart," he mutters as he approaches and sits on the side of the bed. "You really shouldn't be sitting up. Your head got knocked about pretty hard."

Open mouthed, you nod at him and lay back down. You think you're going to faint. Or puke. Your body can't decide which. Panic starts to set in as you attempt to wrap your mind around your apparent alive-ness.

Dean's hands clutch yours as you begin to hyperventilate. His brow is furrowed with worry. "Hey it's ok. You're safe. I got you. Everything's ok," Dean soothes.

"How did I get here? What the fuck happened?," you sputter.

Hesitating, Dean's eyes avoid yours. You stare up at his face and see that he hasn't shaven in days. Dark circles underlie his eyes and he seems to have a fat lip to match yours. "Dean..."

"I found you. I found you with...," his voice trails off. Anger flashes through his eyes and he grits his teeth.

Remnants of that night begin to enter your mind. You remember being at the bar and you remember the motel room. The face of the man eludes you, but you remember his weight on top of you. You remember feeling crushed. "You were there?," you ask meekly.

Dean's eyes finally meet yours and you see the fury and the grief in them. The pain that you caused. "You don't even fucking remember, do you?," he whispers.

It's your turn to avoid his gaze. Shame radiates up your face and you almost wish that you had died.

Dean lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding when he sees tears begin to spring from your eyes. "Hey, hey," he calls as he runs his fingers through your hair and turns your face to look at him, "I'm sorry, Y/N. That was unfair."

"How can you apologize?," you sob. "After everything I've put you through? After everything I've done?"

"Hey. It's ok..."

"No it's not!," you yell. You want to say more, but a sob wracks through your body and you turn away from him. Trying to be as quiet as you can, you curl into the fetal position and shake. Dean's hand rests on your shoulder for a moment before he crawls under the covers with you. He wraps his arms around your waist and spoons you from behind. Burying his face into your neck, he holds you tightly as you bawl and your body shudders. Eventually, your exhaustion consumes you and you fall into an uneasy sleep.

When you wake again, the bed is empty and cold. This time your bladder cannot be ignored, and you push back the blankets and attempt to stand. The room spins slightly, but you manage to get to your feet and make it to the doorway. Stumbling, you move down the hallway and into the bathroom. You avoid seeing anyone in the corridor and you quickly relieve yourself.

As you wash your hands, you glance into the mirror and gawk at your reflection. The left side of your head is painted purple and stitches hold your eyebrow together. Your lip is swollen and a bright red wound colours it. You flinch at your own appearance.

Running the tap, you wash your face hoping that the water can clean everything away. However, when you check the mirror again, your face remains unchanged. You sigh as you jiggle your leg and heat rises through your body. A layer of sweat covers your skin and you feel like you want to barf. You're not sure if the migraine is making you sick or if it's withdrawal.

Before you can contemplate your next fix, Dean enters the bathroom. Your eyes meet through the mirror and your breath catches. Now you can see his mangled hand that is wrapped in bandages. Blood sleeps through the material that covers his knuckles.

"Hey," he breaks the silence softly, "How are you feelin?"

You turn to face him and brace yourself against the sink behind you. "Like I was hit by a fucking train," you grimace.

"Yea, I thought so," he frowns, "That's why I brought you these."

He hands over a bottle of Advil and you flash him a thankful smile. Filling up the glass next to the sink, you briskly gulp down a few of the pills.

"Look, Y/N...," Dean starts before you interrupt him.

"No Dean," your glass clinks as you put it back down on the ceramic sink. "Please don't say it. Thank you for everything. Let me just go get my stuff and I'll get out of your hair."

You go to pass Dean, but his hand catches your arm and stills you. He pulls you close and your eyes float to look into his face.

"Please, don't go," he whispers as his voice cracks.

Your foreheads press together, and you can already feel tears welling in the corners of your eyes. "Dean, I'm... I'm...," before you can get the words out, Dean's lips are crashing into yours.

Tears freely flow down your cheeks as Dean wraps a hand around your neck and hugs around your waist. Your hands rest on his broad chest and you lean into him. The cut on your lip stings from the pressure, but you never want the pain to go away.

As Dean presses his body against yours, you become aware of your own smell. Pulling away from his mouth, you confess under your breath, "Dean, I don't remember the last time I showered."

He chuckles, and it echoes in the bathroom and breaks the tension. Both of you relax your tense muscles and feel yourself breath. He steps away from you and reaches into the shower stall. "Well, I guess we should clean you up then," he growls as he turns on the hot water.

As steam fills the room, he slowly circles you and fixates his stare onto your face. He stops when he's standing directly behind you and you can feel his chest lean into your back.

He peppers kisses on the nape of your neck and glides his hands down to your waist. You moan softly under the intimate touch. His hands grip the bottom of your tank top and he carefully lifts it over your head. You never wear anything under your pajamas, so your breasts are left exposed to the misty air. He reaches around you and cups your breasts gently before skirting his fingers down your belly.

Reaching for the strings on your pajama shorts, he pulls at the knot until it gives way. The band of your shorts loosen, and he pushes them over your hips and down your legs. You are now left completely exposed.

He wraps his arms around your waist and guides you deliberately, so you are standing in front of the mirror. Your naked body is reflected back at you and you wince. Your hips are covered in deep bruises and your nudity makes you aware of the colouring around your neck.

Dean stands behind you and continues to hold you gently. Looking through the mirror and into his eyes, you see the despair in his face. His emerald eyes focus on your wounds and he grits his teeth. You turn to face him and take his face into your palms.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," you whisper.

He shakes his head and pulls you into his chest. You can feel his voice rumble as he speaks.

"Never do that again," he growls. "Never scare me like that again."

You nod numbly as tears flood your eyes again. You're too afraid to ask what happened to the guy at the motel. When did you become so weak? What happened to the strong hunter you once were?

"Hey, look at me," he commands as he pulls your chin up to his face, "I love you Y/N. I really do."

You think you feel your heart stop. "I love you too, Dean," you say breathlessly.

Dean finally gives you a genuine smile with no pain or anger hidden behind it. He draws you in for a deep kiss before looking back into your eyes.

"If anyone ever touches you like that again," Dean shakes, "I swear I'll fucking..."

You cut him off before he works himself up. "I know, Dean. I know."

He pulls you into his chest one more time and kisses the top of your head. "Come on, Y/N. Let's get you cleaned up."

Nodding, you grasp at the bottom of his shirt and pull it over his head. Your fingers glide over his bandaged hand and you unravel it timidly. His knuckles are split and stained red. Your heart is heavy, but Dean pulls your attention away. His tongue attacks your mouth and makes your mind go blank. You shove Dean's sweat pants down his thighs and he kicks them away. His thick cock bobs between his legs, only semi-hard.

Dean backs you into the walk-in shower and you can't help, but whimper when the hot water touches your skin. It feels so good on your aching body.

Sweeping the stray hairs from your eyes, Dean softly touches his lips against yours as the hot water runs down your face. His kiss is delicate, but hungry. You run your hands down his rock-hard chest and enjoy feeling him against your bare skin.

His kisses become more aggressive and demanding as he pins you against the cool tiles of the shower. His arms wrap around your legs as his lifts you up so your legs are wrapped around his waist.

"Dean," you whimper, "I need you."

"I know, baby. I know," he mumbles into you mouth.

One of your arms encircles his shoulders, while the other reaches between your bodies. His now erect cock is pressed between your pelvis and his stomach. You grasp it and squeeze lightly. Dean lets out an animalistic groan. "Fuck, Y/N. I've missed you."

You respond by kissing into his throat as your stroke his thick member. "Dean, I need you inside of me."

Dean nods against your chest and lifts your hips slightly, so that you can fit his cock inside of you. You're already dripping wet with anticipation and you are both too desperate for foreplay. Fisting his cock, you position it against your folds and Dean lowers you onto him.

Cursing softly, you envelope Dean into your pussy. "Christ, Y/N. You are so fucking tight."

You mewl as you feel him stretch you open. Your pussy aches and tingles around his cock and you wiggle slightly at the sensation. "Holy shit, Dean. You're splitting me open."

Once Dean is fully seated inside you, he holds you steady as you both attempt to catch your breath. His weight has you pinned to the wall and the hot water cascades over your naked bodies. His mouth searches for yours and you return his kisses fervidly.

He gradually begins a steady pace and thrusts into you like his life depends on it. Your wails echo against the bathroom walls as Dean grunts against your lips.

"Never leave me, again," Dean begs, sinking his mouth against your collarbone.

The hot water washes away the tears streaming down your face and you simply hold him tighter in your arms.

Both of you can feel your pleasure mounting inside. Your pussy begins to contract around him, and you whine softly into his ear. Your only focus is on this moment. "Dean. You're going to make me..."

"Do it, baby girl. I want you to cum on my cock."

You arch your back slightly and a heavy shudder runs through your body. White lights spot your vision and your chest flushes. The only sound you make is a low, whisper that even the tiles cannot pick up on. "I love you Dean."

Groaning, Dean's thrusts stutter and become erratic. He pushes into you hard and you feel him fill you with his warmth. He paints kisses on your cheeks and temple as he cums.

Both of you pant as you come down from your orgasms. The cold wall bites at your back and Dean carefully lets you down so your feet are back on the shower floor. The spray of the water keeps your both warm, as you stand in a still embrace. You're afraid to let go. Afraid to let this moment end.

Wordlessly, Dean grabs a bar of soap and lathers you up, running it over your battered body. You return the favour when he's finished then, hurriedly, you both wash your hair before turning off the water and stepping into the steam filled room.

Dean wraps a big plush towel around you and pulls you in for a kiss. You savour his lips against yours. He briskly winds a second towel around his waist before following you back into his room.

Exhausted, neither of you bother to put clothes on and simply climb into bed naked. His pulls your body into his and spoons your from behind. He clutches your hip and you wonder if he likes the position because it makes him feel like you can't slip away.

Having not slept well in months, Dean is soon softly snoring. When you were apart, he always stayed awake with worry, getting a minimal amount of sleep. Then once he'd found you, he couldn't sleep until he knew you were ok. Now that you're safely wrapped in him arms, he could finally succumb into a deep slumber.

However, you lay with you eyes open despite your weariness. Sleep still alluded you as a sheen of sweat covered your body. You felt too hot under the covers and pressed against Dean.

Still unable to suppress them, tears quietly rolled down your face as you wondered when you'd get your next fix.


	4. Epilogue

Addicted Part Four Epilogue

You pat down the dirt with your hands and take a step back. Glancing around the barren dirt roads, you wait for someone to appear. It only takes a second.

"Evenin' sweetheart. You lookin' for me?"

He's exceptionally tall. Possibly taller than Sam. His shoulders are also incredibly broad; however, it's not his stature that makes you shudder, instead, it's his glowing red eyes.

"I need to make a deal, demon."

"Well, well then. Right down to business," the demon chuckles. He looks you up and down and pauses briefly, "Hey, aren't you the Winchester slut?"

You hiss at his words, "You here to talk about my love life or make a deal?"

The demon sneers at you, "What would your little boyfriend think of you making a deal with me? I don't need those two fools coming after me after I've taken your soul."

"Don't worry about that. He isn't your problem."

"Yea?," the demon scoffs, "Where does he think you are right now?"

"Rehab," You mutter under your breath.

"Right!", he laughs. "You're a slut and a junkie! So what's the deal then? I clean ya up, so you can live your prissy little life with your hunter boy?"

You grit your teeth, "I want fifteen years of sobriety. Not even any temptation. And for that you can have my soul."

The demon lets out a low whistle, "Ten years. And not to talk you out of it, but won't he notice when you're magically clean?"

"Thirteen years. And I'm technically in rehab right now. After this, I'll return there and do my 30-day program. He'll just think that it worked."

"Deal!," he barks, "Now come on and give me a kiss."


End file.
